A Bittersweet Day
by morgana07
Summary: 1-shot. Despite all the hassles, Dean still remembers Sam's birthday. He has several surprises for Sam including one that is especially bittersweet. *Happy/worried/determined!Sam & Realistic/caring/big brother!Dean*


**Bittersweet Day**

Birthdays had stopped having any real meaning for Sam Winchester years ago. When he'd been a kid they'd moved around so much that very few people even knew what May 2nd was…but Dean always did.

His older brother had always known the date and never forgot to make the day special. Of course it might've just been a hastily bought card, a store cupcake, or whatever else Dean could afford with what cash he had in his pocket, but to Sam whatever it was had meant everything to him because it had come from his big brother.

Their Dad had almost always been hunting or too obsessed with whatever he was looking for that week to pay much attention to things like birthdays or holidays, so it had been up to Dean to at least try to make a token effort to make Sam's birthday a little bit special.

If they were lucky enough to be visiting Pastor Jim or Bobby when it fell, then Sam could expect something a bit more along with an actual cake since the two older hunters were a little old fashioned about the special days. And while Sam enjoyed those times, it was actually the years when it was just him and Dean that he remembered most fondly.

He especially cherished his memories this year, his 31st birthday, because it looked like all the crap that was piling up on them, the bitterness that still held between them, the pressure of what that damn brand from Cain was doing to his brother, and the hunt for Abaddon and Metatron, had finally succeeded in making Dean forget what day it was.

Of course Sam hadn't made a big deal out it; he hadn't even brought it up. Obviously he wasn't shallow enough to think that they could just take a day off hunting for the would-be Queen of Hell or putting a stop to the so-called new God to pretend to be normal for one night.

Dean was already buried in books when Sam got up that morning. It didn't look like his brother had gotten much sleep, so he wasn't surprised when all he got when he stepped into the library was a mumbled grunt and a low growl that was Dean-speak for hand over the cup of coffee Sam had carried in with him.

It had become somewhat of a normal routine to settle behind books, musty old files, or his laptop to try to come up with a location for Abaddon or a way to stop a being that was essentially omnipotent and his minions.

Sam was so used to it in fact that he lost track of the time until his stomach grumbled, reminding him that he'd skipped breakfast and it must be time for lunch.

Pulling himself out of his book-induced coma to sit up straight, the younger hunter winced as his back popped several times and he groaned, reminding himself to not sit for so long in one position again.

"Dean, you want some…okay." Sam blinked when he glanced at the table across from him expecting to find Dean equally buried in research but instead found the chair empty, the books stacked to the side, and the whiskey bottle still untouched.

All three things surprised Sam as he pushed up and waited until his legs stopped feeling like jelly before stepping away from the table. Sam made a mental note to replace the old wooden chairs with something more comfortable or better yet, vibrating.

He'd taken three steps, heading toward the kitchen, when a sudden rancid smell caught his nose. Sam stopped dead to sniff the air again until he was certain what he was smelling, and then he bolted because the smell of something burning should not be in the bunker, especially not coming from the kitchen Dean still was obsessed with.

"Dean? Dean!" he shouted, concern notching up a level when he heard something fall followed by a loud sharp curse. "Dean, what's burning? Are you okay?"

Sam had just reached the kitchen door when his brother stepped out and effectively blocked the door by slapping a hand across it as if wanting to keep Sam out.

"You really don't want to go in there," Dean told him, glancing back over his shoulder before adding firmly. "Trust me."

"What happened?" Sam asked in concern. As he looked his brother over for signs of burns or cuts, it hit him that Dean looked more awake than he had earlier.

In fact, as Sam looked closer, he discovered his older brother had showered, shaved and changed into clean dark jeans and a t-shirt that _didn't_ look like it had seen better days. "You…you going out?" he asked hesitantly since usually the only times these days when Dean shaved much less put on decent clothes is when he'd been cooped up too long and needed to go let off steam at the local bar.

"No." Dean nudged him back from the kitchen door, fingers closing around Sam's upper arm to turn him away from the room and back down the hall. "_We're_ going out, so go run a comb through that mop you call your hair, put on a clean shirt, and meet me at the car."

"Huh? What? Why?" Sam fumbled through the questions as he followed his brother up the hall. "Where're we going?" he demanded, confused at this sudden change in mood and behavior.

Ever since he'd received the Mark of Cain, his older brother's moods had been dark and unpredictable. He'd become obsessed with hunting down Abaddon as well as putting an end to the power hungry, crazy as a fruitloop former bookkeeping angel who'd caused the fall. Dean's moods were also starting to affect his reactions when they hunted actual monsters, so this sudden proclamation confused and worried Sam.

"If I told you then it wouldn't be a surprise…and then you'd bitch because I didn't surprise you on your birthday." Dean paused when he heard Sam come to a halt behind him in the hall and heard the sharp intake of air. He turned enough to look over his shoulder with a slow smirk that was pure Dean; it reminded Sam of the brother he hadn't seen in months. "Did you seriously think, even with everything going on, that I'd forget what today is, Sammy?"

Dean knew that's exactly what his brother had thought, and in all honestly, he didn't blame him given all the hassles and pain that had been going on in their lives for the last several months. There were two dates, however, burned into Dean's brain that he could never forget: Sam's birthday and November 2nd, the night their mother had died and their innocent lives were ripped away.

"The phones are turned off for the night. If Crowley or Castiel call then they can leave a voicemail, and I'm not calling either of them back until tomorrow. Tonight is just for us. I'm taking you out to eat, drink, kick your ass at pool, and everything else can wait…including the mess I made in the kitchen when I tried to bake you a cake." Dean took a deep breath, feeling but ignoring the low burn on his arm; for tonight, that was something else he was putting on the backburner.

"I know we've been dealing with a lot of shit lately. I know we've both said some crap that we can't take back, but it's all put aside tonight." He took a step closer and reached up to clasp a hand over the side of Sam's neck, squeezing lightly. "My pain in the ass baby brother only turns 31 once and I mean to do it right this year. Now, go change and meet me in the garage."

Sam tried to process Dean's words without letting the tears that wanted to fall actually do so. He really had thought Dean had forgotten this year…and given everything they were facing, he wouldn't have blamed him for doing so. It took him a couple seconds to push the emotions aside. He could let them out later, when he was alone. Right now he hurried to change so he could meet Dean in the underground garage they'd located.

"You tried to bake me a cake?" He joined his brother in the garage, lips curving in a grin as Dean shot him a warning look that was tinged with faint embarrassment.

Ever since they moved into the bunker his brother had found that he enjoyed cooking. Cooking…not so much baking. Sam had learned that if something required exact measurements of the baking soda or powder it would likely either explode or be inedible.

"I tried, but something inside it blew up…so now I have to get a chair and scrub the ceiling to get the French vanilla batter off…but that can wait until tomorrow. Hey! You can still eat the strawberries that were gonna be the decorations." Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket while running a slow, almost loving, hand down the side of the car that had been their home and means of getting around since Sam was six months old. It was without a doubt Dean's most prized possession. "Your birthday…so you can drive." He held out the keys and actually laughed at Sam's wide eyes. "Remember when you used to beg me to let you drive?"

"Yeah, I do. You always said no. I only got to drive when you'd been knocked in the head and were seeing seven of everything." Sam took the keys and felt an odd weight settle over him as he slid behind the wheel. It always felt weird to drive and have Dean riding shotgun when there wasn't an injury involved.

"Just remember what I said about scratching her," Dean smirked, settling back as they drove out of the garage and headed into town. He glanced over and noticed that Sam's shoulders were still tense; smiling, he reached to into glovebox and dug around until he found what he was looking for. He held it out to his brother. "Here, since you're driving."

Sam put the brakes on so he could turn to stare hard at the man sitting next to him. "Okay, who the hell are you and what the hell did you do with my brother?" he demanded. His tone was teasing but also wary as he fingered the iPod jack that he'd been certain Dean had salted and burned years earlier.

"Bitch," Dean snarked back, finding it easy to slip back into the wiseass one-liners and jokes; he hoped that by the end of the night Sam would be at least willing to smile.

"Fine…jerk," Sam muttered, trying not to think about how long it had been since either of them had used those nicknames.

The rule that the driver got to pick the music wasn't exactly true…even when Dean didn't drive, he usually insisted on his choice of the music they listened to which was fine with Sam. He'd grown up on the classic cassette tapes his brother still played, and, to be honest, most of the songs on the iPod were songs he'd grown up with. But taking advantage of his brother's generous mood, for the drive to the bar Sam chose his other playlist and rather enjoyed hearing Dean mutter insults about every song that played.

They'd both been in this bar since moving into the bunker, and while Sam wasn't as regular a visitor as his brother, he still found he liked the small town atmosphere as the bartender greeted them by name when they walked in.

They ordered burgers and beers and then set up the first game of pool while waiting for the food to arrive. It wasn't food that Sam normally would've picked, and the burgers probably wouldn't taste nearly as good as the ones Dean could make, but he found that he enjoyed the idea of a night out with his brother.

Sam had grown up watching Dean run a pool table against the best players in the bars and dive joints they went to. He'd learn to play pool, and then hustle it, from the best pool player he knew, and he leaned on his stick to watch his cocky and arrogant older brother sink every ball he called until the last ball went in. He smiled fondly as he met the wiseass grin that was aimed his way. "Not bad, old man," he remarked easily, reaching for the chalk. "Wanna take a seat now while I show you how it's done?"

"Keep mouthing off, Sammy…just remember who taught you to play pool in the first place," Dean snorted, sipping his beer while leaning back in his chair to watch the change that came over Sam whenever he got a pool stick in his hands.

Growing up on the road with a father who was more concerned about hunting the weird and unreal than where their next meal was coming from meant scraping up cash where it could be found. Dean had been hustling pool and cards since before he was old enough to be in a bar legally, and he'd taught his reluctant little brother most of what he knew.

Back when hunting had been less complicated, Sam had been all about trying to earn money the legal ways…with real 9-to-5 jobs…and while Dean had held his share of those growing up, it was always easier to just hustle some poor guy at pool.

He smiled into his beer as he watched the way Sam's long muscular body relaxed as he leaned over the table to sink his first three balls with one shot. Dean could tell that his little brother was enjoying himself because Sam had a totally different body language when he was running a table than when he was just playing for fun. Though fun and losing were two different things, so Dean also knew he was about to see just what skills Sam had picked up through the long years of hunting.

Dean tossed a cold French fry into his mouth as he got back to his feet with a casual nod of his head to the bartender to signal for another round. "Not too bad," he commented easily, letting his neck crack as he gathered the balls up again. "Guess I taught you a few things after all. What about best of three?"

"We playing for money, Dean?" Sam chuckled, wincing as a hand slapped the back of his head. He turned, preparing to return the smack when he noticed the cake on the table where the food had been, and he felt his throat try to close. "Dean…,when did…how'd you…" He couldn't seem to formulate a full question.

"When my cake attempt literally blew up, I called Donna down at the bakery and asked her to decorate one and bring it up here. I figure you haven't had an actual birthday cake in way too many years. I hate that I couldn't always give you one growing up." Dean laid the stick aside to move closer to where Sam was standing staring down at the cake which was in the shape of a puppy with huge eyes and a happy smile. "You were probably six when you asked for a puppy cake. It's 25 years late…but I finally got you one." His hand hesitated a second before finally Dean let it come down over Sam's shoulder to feel the slight trembles going through his brother. He leaned closer. "The no chick flick rule is also off the table until tomorrow too," he added in a low voice.

The words were barely out of his mouth before he suddenly found himself with his arms full of little brother. Dean didn't want to dwell on how long it had been since he had actually hugged, or been hugged by, his brother. No chick flick moments aside, there had been way too much tension between them lately. The older Winchester guessed it wouldn't kill him to swallow his pride and hug back…even if it was in a thankfully not crowded bar.

"Thank you, Dean," Sam murmured, moving back and quickly turning so his brother wouldn't see him give a quick swipe over his eyes. "Should I be thankful you didn't have them put 31 candles on the poor thing?"

"Steve said it might cause the smoke alarm to go off if we did, so you'll have to settle for just the number candles and a single one to grow on as Pastor Jim used to say." Dean used to think the saying was so corny, but now he'd do whatever it took if it meant helping his brother see one more year. "Blow 'em out so I can go back to whipping your ass at pool."

Sam laughed, but he blew out the candles while making a silent wish. He settled his emotions behind closed eyes for the moment until he felt a warm hand close over the back of his neck; God he missed his bother and wished they could always be this way again.

The night of pool, beer, memories, and brotherly bickering continued long into the night until finally, it was time to head back to the bunker.

It turned out that Dean had drank far less than Sam had thought because his brother was completely steady on his feet…unlike Sam. The birthday boy returned the keys and slumped in his seat with his head against the window, much like he had for so many years when things were good and relaxed between them.

Sam's fingers were running over the new watch that had been his brother's gift to him. He'd laughed when Dean had showed him that it had a speaking alarm on it. Sam was afraid to ask how the hell Dean had gotten Kevin to record the '_Wake up, asshat!_' message.

"Hey, you awake?" Dean asked and Sam realized they'd parked back in the garage and the Impala was turned off.

"Yeah, I'm still awake," Sam assured him but yawned just as he said it. He offered a mild shrug. "Well, mostly awake. Dean…I want to thank you for tonight." He dropped his eyes to the watch on his wrist. "I know after everything we've been through, and how busy we are, that we didn't have time for this but…"

"You're my brother, Sammy. There hasn't been a year…well, there hasn't been a year that I've been topside, that I haven't remembered your birthday. And I swear even when I'm gone I'll find a way to haunt your ass on this day too." Dean made his tone light but he knew when those hazel eyes jerked up to look at him sharply. "I've got one more thing to give to you, bro. It's under your seat."

Frowning a little, Sam kept his eyes on his brother's suddenly guarded face while reaching down to feel under his seat until his fingers touched something metal. "What's this?" he asked, pulling it out and feeling his heart do a triple leap in his chest when he looked down to see a set of license plates in his hands.

Now a set of plates for a car might not seem like a great birthday gift, but to Sam this set was about the best thing he ever could've been given. He traced a fingertip over the embossed plate, tracing each letter and number of the KAZ 2Y5…the Impala's original plate number, and the one that he'd always felt the car was missing.

"How?" he asked but then a better question came to mind. "Why?"

Dean took his time answering, removing the keys from the ignition and holding them as if thinking about something while running his hand over the dashboard.

To Sam it was like his brother was saying goodbye…and suddenly he felt his eyes start to burn when Dean turned to face him. He was already shaking his head in denial as little inklings of fear began to form in his belly, but when Dean took his hand to drop the keys into his palm and then closed his fingers around them tightly, Sam knew the plates weren't his gift. The Impala was.

"Dean…what're you…" he tried to ask only to have his own voice choke off, the unshed tears from earlier now coming and Sam couldn't find the strength to stop them.

"When I turned 17 Dad handed over the keys and title to me. He told me to take care of her. The year my deal came due, I should've done this but I was too self-absorbed in proving that I wasn't falling apart inside. Twice, well three times if you count that mess in Florida when the Trickster aka Gabriel killed me, I've left you alone but never gave you what was always yours by right." Dean's smile was strained, sad but also realistic, as if he'd accepted what might happen in the coming weeks or months.

"Even if we kill Abbadon and Crowley, even if we find a way to beat Metatron and send all the featherheads home to Heaven, we both know this mark on my arm won't come off easily or without a price. I'm not stupid enough to not know that I jumped before I looked…again…and this may well be the time I don't come out of the final fight." He was quick to latch onto Sam before the younger man could pull away and deny what was being said. "When I said months ago that you'd do the same thing for me that I did for you…"

"I would, Dean. I would in a heartbeat, no matter what I said before," Sam broke in, voice choked with tears. The tears got heavier as he watched his brother, his idol for so many years, his father figure and best friend, shake his head slowly with a true honest smile that Dean would only allow Sam to see and only when things were this emotionally raw. "Dean, please…don't do this. We'll stop both of them and get the brand off of you. You won't…"

Dean squeezed Sam's closed hand tightly while moving his other hand up to squeeze his neck. "I should've died nearly ten years ago, Sammy. You know it and I know it. I've fought heaven, hell, purgatory and everything in between…but this fight is different and you know that too. You know this Mark that Cain gave me is changing me inside and out. I will fight that change, I will try to remain true to myself, to stay the man who taught you what you know but if this goes south…if after I use the blade to kill the bitch and hopefully Crowley…if it goes wrong and I can't pull myself back…you let what happens to me happen. Don't flash fry Cas in Holy Oil if it comes down to where he has to do what I've already asked him to do.

"You go ahead and let me go. No stunts, no deals with either side, no spells, no nothing. You let it go, let me go, and you take my baby, now legally your baby, and you go live your life. Go back to school if you want. Find a normal job. Find an awesome girl. You go find that damn apple pie life you always wanted…and you take care of this car or I will haunt your ass, little brother." Dean heard the sob and pulled Sam forward into his arms for a full hard hug and felt it returned with an almost desperation.

Sam wanted to argue, to fight that it wouldn't go down like that, but this was one time when he couldn't really see an easy way out. He accepted that defeating Abbadon would be risky enough, but the chances of getting the brand off of Dean without it killing him or dragging him into an abyss of darkness were slim to none.

No matter what he might have said, what Dean might have thought he'd meant, Sam would never sit idly by while his brother died or fought for survival. He might not work a deal with demons or angels since those never ended well for them, but he'd be damned if he'd let anyone kill his brother without at least trying to save him if push came to shove.

"I…I won't promise that," Sam managed through tears, letting himself give in to the emotions and, like he had as a kid when running to his big brother for protection from a nightmare, he turned to bury his face into Dean's neck and just held on. "No deals…but I won't promise anything else."

"I wouldn't expect any less, Sammy," Dean chuckled, his own deep voice was torn with emotions he'd tried to keep inside until he was alone, but if anyone could break those walls, it was his pain in the ass little brother. "The car's still yours though. The best birthday gift I could ever give you even if it's not the perfect timing."

"It'll be your car forever, Dean." Sam would always take care of this car because he still considered it home, but he'd also do it because for as long as he lived, the Impala would always be Dean's car. Not their Dad's, not Sam's, but Dean's. "I'll take care of her if anything happens to you and yeah, those plates are going on, but no matter whose name is on the title, the Impala will always be yours."

Dean looked like he might argue but finally nodded, holding the hug for another moment before he finally cleared his throat and gently nudged Sam back, slashing a hand over his face. "Okay, enough of the chick flick stuff. You're still buzzed, so I'm going to pour you into bed, and hit the sack myself because before I turn my phone back on tomorrow, I have a kitchen to clean…and you have plates to put on your car."

Sam didn't realize until he flopped face first onto his bed, still fully dressed, that he had the new plates clutched to his chest and the keys still clenched in his hand. He'd put the plates on tomorrow, but the keys were going back to Dean. While Sam had his own set, the set with the bullet for a keychain belonged to his brother, and Sam would not take those until he totally had to…until he was certain his brother had finally found peace.

As he felt a blanket being pulled up over him, Sam blinked past the tears still blurring his eyes to watch Dean pause with his hand over his head before fingers carded through his hair like Dean used to when comforting his brother.

"Love you, Sammy," he murmured thickly, saying the two words that usually weren't part of any Winchester's vocabulary. "Happy Birthday, kiddo."

Dean was almost to the door when he heard the words returned. He paused with his hand on the door and and his face to the hall, so Sam missed seeing the warm smile that flitted over his rugged face before he nodded and stepped out, leaving the door ajar in case Sam happened to wake up and need him.

Rolling over to reach into the drawer of the stand beside his bed, Sam pulled out a small velvet pouch that held a few items he'd carried for several years now.

The silver ring and black bracelet were both items that Sam would give back soon, but it was the other item that he needed to hold in his hand as he drifted into a restless sleep.

The small golden amulet had once been a symbol of their bond as brothers. A bond that had been shattered thanks to the interference of both heaven and hell. Sam had picked it up out of a motel trashcan and had been holding onto it since that day. He'd been wondering when he'd have a chance to risk giving it back to his brother; now he thought he saw that chance.

He needed something to counter whatever effect that damn Mark was having on his brother, and he hoped this small token might do it.

Folding it into his hand, Sam closed his eyes to think about his birthday. It had turned bittersweet in the end, but he would treasure the memory of the night for the rest of his life…even if he knew Dean let him win that last game.

"I'll save you somehow, Dean," he whispered to his empty room and he fell to sleep with dreams and fears rolling in his head of what may lie ahead for them both.

**The End**


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